


and the bright rays we got in summertime

by monodeuramain (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, a 13 going on 30 au of sorts, also louis is bi on this i'm not even sorry, if you can call it that idk, lots of pining lots more than i had planned, louis and harry argue a lot over britpop, the boys are in the music journalism business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/monodeuramain
Summary: When the battle of Britpop is reaching its peak, Harry makes a wish that turns his life upside down. It’s for the better, he thinks. Louis disagrees.Set in the 90s and the present day, somewhat.(TOTAL WIP)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A big big BIG thank you to [stylnoops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stylnoops/) the best editor anyone could ask for, so much so that she never complained when I asked her for writing advice at 4 in the morning.
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry loathes feeling small.

He’s always been tagged ‘the baby’ of every possible situation –i.e. someone who most of the time is a burden, except when they serve for entertainment purposes, such as singing, dancing, or just being clumsy, which seems to be everyone’s favorite act from his list of traits. It happened when he was an actual baby at home, when he got into kindergarten, and later at primary school. It didn’t matter if he was around his siblings or his friends, or even people he barely uttered one word to in his life, they all seemed delighted with his presence.

And yeah, he guesses that he should feel good about it, but he wishes he wasn’t the main attraction of any occasion for all the wrong reasons. He likes attention, sure –he’s just a kid, for Christ’s sake- but not when people are laughing _at_ him instead of _with_ him, and that was the case most of the time. And life has been this way for Harry for as long as he can remember.

His earliest memory goes back to his third birthday party. The dining room in Holmes Chapel –his old home- is bloated with people he can’t quite register, since his tunnel vision is set on his closest family standing across the long table.

Gemma, his older sister, is filling a few transparent cups with some liquid that seems undrinkable, and then putting them on a tray and offering them to the rest of the guests. His dad, Des, is shaking hands with every person that enters the house and making small talk with them, Harry assumes. And then there’s Anne, his mum, giving away snacks to everyone in the room as if it were Christmas.

The memory is cozy and comfortable, and it used to be one of his favorites from his childhood. That was until it hit him that, despite being the center of attention of this reunion, he wasn’t really a part of it. Everyone had things to do and say, duties to fulfill, except for him. And it’s not like he could just go ahead and try to get involved or chatty at all, because as long as he was tied to a baby chair and his parents didn’t feel like freeing him from that wooden cage to socialize with other toddlers, or anyone for that matter, he can’t.

So he stays still, remnants of neon-y birthday cake fondant on his hands, probably on his face as well, while everyone around him is talking to someone else.

And continue not paying attention to him.

*

Harry’s digital alarm clock comes alive at 7 am sharp, yelling out some sport scores he couldn’t care less about. At least the sound from the device interrupted that stupid childhood flashback he was having. He can’t figure out why he keeps reliving that day in his dreams, especially since it embodies everything he dislikes about himself.

He doesn’t need a reminder in his sleep of how tiny he feels in the world. He already deals with being the shortest of his grade all the time when he’s awake. And his sister being an actual adult that could go to pubs if she was into that kind of thing. He has to start an actual debate when any “elder” doesn’t take his music taste seriously, just because they think he’s not of age to ‘get’ the artists he loves. And on top of all that, even his best friend in the whole world, Louis, also happens to be older than him. And not one, but two years older.

Harry tries really hard not to bitch about it, because he knows Louis goes out of his way to assure him that their age difference means nothing to him. He knows that every time they hang out, the other boy tries his best not to bring it up. But he has accidentally eavesdropped a couple times when his mom pleads for Louis to take care of him before they go out on their weekly bike ride, or before they’re going to the arcade across town, or right when they’re going to take the train to go to arena shows in London.

But that doesn’t matter, not right now. He shrugs those thoughts away, along with what’s left of his slumber, and sits down on his bed. He can’t fixate on the bad things when he’s woken up to what just happens to be the one day he’s looked forward to forever. As his alarm clock rambles about the current events in 10 Downing Street, Harry sees its red digits declaring it’s the 1st of February in the year of our lord 1997.

It’s Harry Styles’ birthday. It’s his 13th freaking birthday and he’s so excited he might implode.

Just when he’s about to hop out of bed, his mum nearly slams the bedroom door open with her right foot, a birthday cake with a single candle on top of it on her hands, and a wide smile on her face.

“Oh god, mum-“

“Don’t ‘oh god’ me today, mister,” Anne fake scolds him, pointing one finger to his son. “You know I have civil rights as a mother to pamper my son as much as I want on his birthday.”

Harry sighs and ruffles his hair, trying to regain his self-proclaimed cool. “Fine, just don’t use the word ‘pamper’ from now on.”

“You’ve got a deal, stardust,” says mum, fixing back his hair. “Now, could you please blow this pagan symbol of age before it melts on the icing your sister and I fought for hours to make?”

“Okay,” Harry breathes out again, trying to clear his head to figure out a decent wish. He’s got nothing besides being older. Well, like that wasn’t granted already, since he woke up and he aged another year. But he would love it if people listened to him, too.

He blows the candle.

“Yay!” Anne exclaims, putting the cake on the night table to embrace him casually. “Did you make a wish?”

Harry looks up at her, mid-frowning. “Why do you want to know? It’s not like you believe in that stuff.”

“That’s right”, she nods, “I only believe in prayer. But still, it’s fun to yearn for certain things.”

He continues to frown at her. “’Fun to yearn for certain things’?” he repeats.

“Yeah! We’re human, it’s only natural.” She smiles at the boy and taps him on the nose.

“Yeah, I guess”, he shrugs.

“Are you going to tell me what you wished for?”

He shrugs again, trying to rid himself of her hug and failing miserably. “It’s not that important, mum. It’s not like it’ll come true.”

“ _Pleaaaaaaseeeee_ ”, his mum actually begs, putting her hands together.

Harry gives her a look and finally rids of her arm on his shoulders. “Fine. You know, for being the mother of this household you’re really not acting your age right now.”

She shrugs and flashes him a smile. “I’m just curious to know what my little stardust wished for on his 13th birthday. You know it’s an important age. If we were Jewish, there would be a lot more going on for you today.”

“… But we’re not Jewish”, Harry counters.

His mum shrugs again. “It’s an important birthday nonetheless.”

“Whatever”, He replies shaking his head and feeling defeated.

“So?”

“What?”

“What did you wish for?”

“Oh. Right.” He scratches his head and feels an unpleasantly familiar heat rushing to his cheeks. “I just… thought I’d like to be old- I mean… taken more seriously… something like that.”

Anne is visibly shocked by that. “What?! Why would you ask for such a thing? You want to be older? For what? Who’s not taking you seriously? You know those two things are not correlated at all-”

“Mum, calm down,” Harry says, putting both of his hands up to feign surrender. “I told you it’s not that important.”

His mum crosses her arms in response. “But it _is_ important. Why would you say people don’t take you seriously? You’re super educated and well-mannered for your age. You have the best grades in your class. I know disc-jockeys at the BBC that would envy your musical knowledge.”

“Now, that’s not true, we both know you’re not friends with any ‘disc-jockeys’,” he replies with air quotes, for dramatic effect, “from Radio 1 or not.”

“Okay, that was a stretch,” she admits nodding quickly before her expression becomes preoccupied again. “But what is this all about? Who doesn’t take you seriously?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Well. If you want me to be brief, everyone.”

Anne stares at her son confused now. “What do you mean by that? You know Gemma and I think you’re brilliant. We tell you about it all the time.”

“Yeah, just as often as you make fun of me because I have two left feet or do quirky things that I don’t even know are quirky because to me they’re natural,” he says, feeling a bit overexposed.

“Oh come on, Harry. Don’t be such a drama queen,” she scoffs. “You know we’re just playing around when we do that.”

“Oh do I?” Harry questions looking back at her and quirking an eyebrow. “Actually I wasn’t aware. I’m not aware of it when my classmates or randos chit-chat behind my back about how weird I am, either. But yeah, I guess you’re right, maybe they’re just messing around.”

Anne frowns at him, worried again. “Are you seriously upset about this? I thought we were all in on the joke.”

“No, I’m _not_ in on the joke, mum. I’m definitely not in on the joke when Gemma tells me off because I’m listening to some singer that’s swearing on a track, or when I’m about to go to the park on my own and you put the police on speed dial. This isn’t a laughing matter to me, mum. You can keep saying I’m overreacting, but I feel like I am of age to make my own decisions, and hang out with the people that I want, and listen to the music I prefer. And I know that it’s useless that I tell you all of this, because to you I’m just a kid who doesn’t know what’s best. And that’s exactly what proves my point. If I was giving you this same speech at, I don’t know, 30, you would step out and leave me be. But I’m not. I’m only 13 and this is just another tantrum.”

A beat passes.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, stardust,” Anne smiles down at him and grabbing the untouched cake. “I’m taking this back to the kitchen. Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Please, shower as quick as you can so you’re not late for school, okay?” She says picking up the cake and making her way to leave the room.

Harry sighs, defeated once again. “I’ve never been late for school, mum.”

“I know,” she agrees, looking back to her son, “but I love mentioning it. Makes me feel motherly and responsible.”

“Sure, anything to make you feel better about yourself.”

She turns around completely to hug him awkwardly with one arm. “Oh, Harry, don’t be so hard on me, at least not today. You know how hard it is to accept you’re pretty much all grown up now.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he shrugs.

Anne looks him in the eye. “Are we good, stardust?”

Harry imitates her cheer ironically. “Does it matter?”

“That’s my boy,” she smiles, kissing him on the forehead and letting him go.

“Thanks for the cake, mum,” he says before she walks to leave the room again. He can’t be all that terrible to her.

Her smile widens. “No problem,” she says, exiting the bedroom.

Harry finally gets out of bed to shut the door and gives the alarm clock a quick look. Amazing. He’s spent five minutes of the best morning ever making a fool of himself, as always.

This day is up to a great start.

*

“Harry, its Friday. Is it necessary that you have your birthday thing _today_?” Gemma asks her brother right when he’s about to leave the kitchen. “We could have it on the weekend instead and have all our relatives show up-”

“Okay, that’s why I want it to be today,” he interrupts turning back to his sister. “I don’t mean to offend you or mum, but I really want to do something on my own this one time,” his mum and sister look upset nonetheless. “Oh come on, we’ve had this argument forever! And you always agreed with me.” This doesn’t change his family’s demeanor at all. “Plus, I already invited a group of people and they all said they would come.”

Gemma smiles and quirks an eyebrow at that. “You mean like, besides Louis?”

“Gem,” Anne stops her from across the room.

Harry’s been staring at his sister for a few seconds. “What do you mean by that? I have other friends.”

“Yeah, and I look like Rachel from Friends,” she scoffs back at him. “Come on, be straight with me. Who did you invite? I never see you with anyone else in school apart from Lou.”

“Why should I tell you? It’s not like you’re going to be there, too,” Harry says looking away.

“Kids, please, we can talk about this some other time,” Anne interrupts, trying to make peace between her children. “You’re already about three minutes late to class.”

“Hold on,” Gemma stops her mum, turning around the kitchen counter to be closer to Harry. “I saw you talking to Nick’s crew earlier this week. Did you ask _them_ to come?” she asks, nearly on the fence of laughing at him.

Harry shrugs. “So what if I did?”

His sister practically barks laughter at that. “Oh my god, this is not real. It’s just too good to be true.”

“Gem, stop making fun of your brother,” their mum says jumping to the rescue.

“But mum, he’s making fun of himself!” Gemma argues, still mildly laughing. “I’m just joining in on the fun!”

“Hold on,” Harry interrupts her, already embarrassed by asking. “Why would you say that?”

Gemma looks back at him, pseudo pity on her features. “Haz, I love you, I really do, and I know it’ll break your heart to hear me say this, but those guys are not into hanging out with you _for you_. At all.”

“Why?” Harry frowns.

“They’re just…” she sticks out one hand to gesticulate something. “A different breed.”

His frown deepens. “What does that mean? Are you saying that I’m uncool?”

“Well-”

“No, seriously. Am I uncool and I should stop trying to be friends with people who are actually cool?” Harry questions with a growingly squeaky voice.

“I didn’t say that, Haz,” Gemma replies, already done with the discussion.

“Well, you shouldn’t have said anything at all,” he declares, turning away from her and picking up his backpack. “I’m late for school now. See you tomorrow.”

“Harry, I’m sorry-” his sister tries.

“Save it,” Harry stops her, already at the house’s threshold. “I’ve got to go.”

“Stardust, you forgot your lunch!” Anne says, running out for her son.

“Don’t worry, I’ll grab something at school,” Harry says before stepping out the door.

“What was that?”

Louis is giving him a funny look from the only chair on the Styles’ garden that no neighborhood vandal has stolen yet. And he looks awesome, as per usual. Harry’s known him since his family moved to Manchester –a long time ago, and he still can’t figure out how he manages to have his uniform so well ironed and his shoes so polished every day. Plus, for a few weeks he’s been trying out a new quiff thing on his hair that, frankly, only his brown locks could pull off.

Harry wishes he was him sometimes.

He shrugs at his friend from the door. “Got in another birthday related fight with mum and Gem. Mostly Gem though.”

“Sorry, mate,” Louis says, going over to Harry and hugging him with one arm. “I’m sure that’s the last thing you wanted today.”

“Clearly”

“Chin up, stardust,” Louis actually taps his chin while smiling at him. “You’re gonna be fine”

Harry immediately swats his friend away. “I told you not to call me that, Lou”

“I’m sorry,” he jokingly apologizes trying not to laugh. “Your mum uses that pet name so often that it stuck with me”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry ignores him, frowning again.

Louis taps him on the chin again, for good measure. “You’ve got to admit it’s cute, Haz”

“Whatever you say,” Harry nods, annoyed. “Can we go now?”

“Sure. Anything for the grumpiest birthday boy in the world,” he states while ruffling his friend’s hair.

Harry chuckles and pushes him away again as they walk to get their bikes. “Shut up”

*

By the time he’s having lunch with Louis at the courtyard, Harry decides that his morning wasn’t as awful as he expected –we’re talking catastrophic levels here, though, like a meteorite falling on the school building or something.

However, because the universe does seem to be against his happiness, his history teacher decided to check the birthday board on the back of the room for the first time in centuries, right before starting her lesson. And once she realized it was the boy’s birthday, she made all of his classmates sing to him. And of course, since he barely talks to anyone, most of them didn’t sing or did it between giggles and mumbles about what a loser the birthday boy was. Harry thought the worst part was over, but then the same teacher announced a surprise pop quiz on religions in the UK. Brilliant. He did know most of the contents, but that doesn’t mean he can’t complain about it at least internally, right?

“You seem awfully quiet today,” Louis casually comments as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Is something wrong?”

“What?” Harry says after a beat.

His friend chuckles as he swallows the food. “I said you haven’t talked much today”

“Oh. Sorry,” Harry says, blinking a couple times. “I spaced out for a second”

“I can see that,” Louis replies, still smiling at him.

“I’m fine, though. History was hell, but as you can tell,” he gestures at his body for dramatic effect. “I got through it”

Louis laughs at him again. “Congrats”

Harry smiles back.

There’s a comfortable silence between them for a few seconds as they eat their food. Since he left his real lunch at home, Harry bought a tiny salad from the cafeteria and is struggling to get a lettuce leaf with his fork by the time Louis speaks again.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he reassures him in a monotone.

Louis puts his sandwich down on the table behind them and stares at the boy. “Are you still upset about the argument you had with Gem?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry replies, also setting his lunch on the table and avoiding Louis’ gaze.

Louis rolls his eyes but keeps his tone friendly. “That’s okay. I just don’t want you to hide inside a shell, not today. I mean, it _is_ your birthday”

“Yeah, but what’s the use of aging another year if I’m still not taken seriously?” He questions, mostly to himself.

“What are you talking about?” Louis asks back, frowning.

“Never mind, ignore me,” Harry answers turning to the table to have another bite of his food.

Louis imitates him and puts his arm around him to draw his attention. “I really want to know, Harry. What’s this about?”

Harry drops the fork on the plastic cup and incorporates slowly to meet Louis’ eye. “I just… sometimes…” He starts feeling really stupid. “I kinda feel like I’m not a real person”

Louis’ frown deepens at that. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” Harry scratches his head trying to figure out how to explain it, feeling colossally stupid this time. “I wish I could have a conversation with someone without feeling like they’re talking to me from a pedestal”

“What kind of pedestal?” His friend ponders jokingly.

Harry looks away. “You know what I mean, like because I’m younger and… smaller in size I feel like to other people what I say or think doesn’t matter”

“Huh,” Louis sits up and looks more confused than before.

“Do you see what I mean?” Harry asks, feeling massively stupid.

Louis scratches his head now. “I mean… I guess… but I’m still… a little surprised by this.” Pause. “I mean, do you feel that way when you’re talking to me, too?

Harry startles. “No, of course not.” Another pause. “Not all the time, at least”

“Are you serious?” Louis asks, mildly offended.

“Oh come on, Louis, don’t make such a big deal about it,” he pleads.

“Oh, I’m making a big deal about it, Harry?” He questions sarcastically. “You’re the one who’s being sensitive about this stuff on the first place”

“Yeah, but you can’t deny that you are older than me,” Harry replies imitating his friend’s tone.

“And you’re younger, so what? It’s not like my age makes me superior”

Harry shakes his head. “You don’t get it...”

“No, I don’t. So explain it to me.” Louis requests. “What is it that you can’t do at your age? Like, what kind of things are you missing out on by being 13, really?”

“That’s not what I said”

“Then what is it?” Louis asks, louder.

Harry huffs out a breath. “Like what happened at breakfast today. I was telling Gemma who I invited to the house and she just made fun of me because I’m not cool enough, or something”

“Wait, pause. Who did you invite to your birthday?” Louis inquiries, frowning again.

Harry stays silent for longer than a beat. “Oh. I didn’t- I didn’t tell you?”

Louis scoffs. “No, I think I’d probably remember you telling me there are other people attending your ‘party’ other than me,” he air quotes midsentence to highlight his aggravation. “You know, given the fact that we only ever hang out with each other”

“Right,” the boy smiles awkwardly.

Louis smiles back, sarcastically. “So? Who else is going?”

“Styles!” Someone yells out from across the court.

Harry positively lights up when he realizes who called his last name. “Hey!" He yells back, smiling.

Four teenagers, two guys and two girls, are walking towards their table as slowly as possible, just to let everyone around them bask in their coolness. Its Nick’s crew, as they’re called commonly. All of them have skipped grades in the past, but that doesn’t stop them from being the most popular clique in school. They’re known for ditching class to crash 21+ gigs around town and having a peculiar eye for thrift shop fashion. No decent teen in Manchester would admit to wanting to hang out with them, but there’s no harm in saying they’re pretty to look at.

On the far left is Rita, tanned for days, sporting an enormous varsity jacket with golden tones to match her very much golden hair and laughing at nothing, probably just at being so amazing and beautiful, Harry assumes. She moved to England when she was two years old from Yugoslavia. Like, she was born in a country that doesn’t even exist anymore. How more interesting can you get.

Next to her is Ed, although he insists on people calling him Eddy, as if that nickname wasn’t horrendous. He’s wearing a deep blue tracksuit from some American university Harry’s never heard of in his life, which contrasts hugely with the orange skein he calls his hair. Harry likes to think he got “into” the group only by mere chance, given that his look isn’t as polished as the others’. In truth, he’s actually in charge of playing guitar when they get together on the weekends, and of course, getting them drugs. Not any hard stuff, just pot, but because of the group’s self-proclaimed next level status, smoking weed from time to time is the edgiest thing they could do.

The one who called Harry’s name is the leader of the pack, Nick Grimshaw. He is the oldest member of the group and the one to blame for its reputation. He’s almost three years behind graduating and what he calls his lucky strike at failing doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, despite his fairly well off parents’ best efforts. He’s walking by Ed’s side and his look is the definition of slacker chic: his bed-hair looks effortlessly put together, his school jumper has a duct tape fabricated cross covering the emblem and its sleeves are ripped out to reveal a dirty white tee underneath, his dark grey jeans do not look like they’re part of a real uniform, and his old Adidas trainers are the cherry on top of him giving the finger to the world.

Harry is really jealous of him.

And if that wasn’t enough, at the end of the line is Asami. From sources Harry would prefer not to reveal, he knows that her heritage is a mix of Japanese and Danish. Her family also moved to Manchester when she was a baby, but she was born in the UK. Her bob haircut is dyed blue on the back, and Harry’s sure she’s been called out on it by the school’s board a million times since she got it dressed, but she’s just too awesome to care, isn’t she? She wears more make-up than most of the girls in his classes and is the only person he knows that would show up to school every day wearing an oversized biker jacket to cover up most of the uniform.

Harry really, really fancies her.

“Here come those snobs,” scoffs Louis, turning around to the table to finish his almost forgotten sandwich.

The clique finally reaches them and Harry stands up diligently. He regrets it one second later though, thinking they might see him as more of a puppy than he really is.

“Hey guys,” he salutes them when they’re close enough.

“‘Guys’?” Louis questions quietly from his seat, looking up at Harry.

Harry hurries to shush him while smiling.

The group smiles at the pair. “Hello Styles, how’s it going?” The leader asks to the boy.

“I’m ok, how are you?”

“Fine,” they all reply in unison.

Harry chuckles nervously. “Great”

“Actually,” Nick interjects, stepping out of the line. “I’m not so fine”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Walk with me, Styles,” Nick orders, inviting the boy towards him while separating from the group.

Harry joins him quickly. An actual puppy, he is. “What is it?”

They stop near a tree, where the others can’t hear them. Harry glances back at them and notices they’re chatting with Louis, so he dies a little inside. That’s gonna be a tough one to deal with later.

Nick puts his serious face on to talk down at the boy. “See, the old man thought it’d be a good idea to enroll me in creative writing this semester, right? To get my brain cells working, or summat. You get the deal.”

“Sure, right,” Harry interjects nodding profusely.

“And thus far, it’s proved not to be such a good idea,” Nick finishes seeming defeated.

“How come?”

The older teen crosses his arms, leaning on the tree next to them. “Well, for one, my grades are terrible!” He states, huffing out fake laughter.

Harry feels pressured to chuckle too. “Right”

“Yeah, so I really need to give my best to pass this class or I’ll end up stuck in summer school like a proper loser.”

“I understand,” the boy nods again.

“And, well,” Nick starts, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands in his pockets instead. “I have a short story due tomorrow that I haven’t really started yet…”

“Right…”

“So I don’t think I’ll get to attend your little party today,” he admits, playing mock disappointment.

“Oh. But that’s okay,” he says nonchalantly. “I understand that your academic future’s at stake.”

Nick smiles down at him condescendingly. “You do get that, if I don’t go, neither are Rita, Eddy or Asami, right?”

“Huh?” Harry speaks, visibly alarmed.

“I’m sorry, little mate,” Nick says, shrugging and starting to walk back to the table.

“Wait!” The boy exclaims after half a second.

Nick turns around slowly and smiles at Harry again. “Yes?”

“How lengthy does the short story have to be?”

Nick nearly jogs back to the boy. “Really, pal? Would you do it for me?”

Harry frowns, irritated at himself for even thinking to offer such a thing. “I just asked what the length should be”

“Right, right. It’s three to five pages,” He replies smiling awkwardly.

Harry sighs.

“Would you write it?” Nick questions, plea written all over his face.

Harry bites his lip, reconsidering. “Will Asami go if I do?”

“You player,” Nick says, laughing and attempting to tickle him or something of the like.

Harry steps away immediately, suddenly very uncomfortable. “Will she go?”

“Of course!”

The boy sighs again. “Deal,” He thinks this is what selling one’s soul to the devil must feel like.

Nick’s grin can be seen from miles away. “I hope whatever deity is up in the sky blesses you.”

They walk back to the table. Once they’re near, Nick clasps one arm around Harry’s back. And, unfortunately, the boy doesn’t miss the hurt look Louis gives them.

“No worries, it’s my pleasure,” Harry replies, smiling back.

Nick lets go of Harry and joins his pack again. “See you in a couple hours then, Styles. And, I assume that your less fortunate friend will be attending as well?”

Louis finally stands up from his seat and looks at Nick dead in the eye. “My name’s Louis, you uncultured donut. And of course I’m going.”

“That’s too bad,” Rita says. “I thought it’d be a classy reunion.”

“Me too,” Ed agrees.

Asami scoffs at them. “Come on, guys, there’s no need to be rude to our friend’s friend”

 _‘She called me her friend’_ is the only thought Harry would like to have for the rest of the day and year, thank you very much.

Nick shrugs. “Whatever, let’s go. Good chat, Styles!”

“Yeah… you too... I think.”

“See you later,” Asami says, tapping Harry on the arm before walking away with the group.

“Okay…” Harry replies once they’re a few good yards away, absolutely dazzled.

Louis waves one hand in front of Harry’s face. “You alright there?”

He rolls his eyes in response. “I’m fine. Spaced out again, I think.”

“You’re doing that a lot lately,” Louis says, sitting down.

“I guess,” Harry admits, sitting down as well.

“So, you invited the uppity brats to your birthday party,” It’s not a question.

“Yeah”

“What for? They’re phony and annoying. Plus, you don’t even know them,” Louis argues.

Harry frowns at him. “I do know them! Didn’t you just see me chatting with Nick?”

“Yeah, and while we’re on the subject of that,” Louis starts, facing the boy. “What is ‘your pleasure’?”

Harry looks away. “Oh. Nothing. Nick needed help with some short story and I offered to tutor him.”

“You’re writing a short story for him?” Louis questions, standing up and looking extremely insulted. “Why?”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry claims.

“I can’t believe he asked you to do his homework so he’d come tonight. That’s just classic,” Louis says covering his face with his hands.

“Leave me alone, Louis. I know what I’m doing,” Harry states, looking away.

Louis sits down again and makes Harry look at him. “That might be true, but why would you want to be around that type of people? They’re nasty and snobby and an all-around-”

“Gang of pricks. Yeah, I’ve heard that from you over a bazillion times, Lou,” The boy replies rolling his eyes. “I don’t need to have a reason why, I just like them. I think they’re cool.”

Louis scoffs. “Please.”

“And… I really like Asami…” Harry murmurs. He hopes this makes his friend understand. He is a guy after all right? He still looks down though, the grass just seems a lot more interesting to stare at that moment. “And I think she might like me back.”

“Ah. Well, that’s just great,” Louis says, picking up his stuff and leaving the boy alone.

It takes a long second or two for Harry to realize Louis is gone, walking fast towards the school building. “Wait… Lou, wait up!”

“What?” he yells back as he stops in his tracks.

Harry runs towards him, his lunch and belongings forgotten on the table. “Why are you upset now?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis says avoiding his friend’s eyes. “Have fun on your birthday,” He begins to walk again.

“Are you not going?” Harry asks, stopping Louis once more.

He frowns at the sun in his eyes. Harry likes to think so anyway. “Well, since I’m not as cool as Grim’s friends maybe I should just stay out of the celebration.”

Harry shuts his eyes, frustrated. “I never said that, Lou.”

Louis reverses his steps. “But I bet you thought of it, just like you’ve thought that I’m fulfilling some sort of superiority complex by being friends with you, and didn’t feel like telling me about it until about five minutes ago.”

“Come on, let’s not fight again,” Harry pleads, feeling worse than he has in all of his miserable birthday.

A beat passes before Louis speaks again, looking at the other boy with slight compassion. “I just don’t get it, Harry. Why would you want to be friends with that trope of brats?” He stops himself and tries to begin another sentence a couple times but ends up looking away. Harry knows that Louis tends to do that when he’s about to make a point that he doesn’t like to admit to anyone but his own mind. He’s the most honest and at the same time, the most guarded person the boy has ever met. “You’re way too nice and smart and eloquent and…” He sighs mid-sentence, stopping himself again. “… adorable and unique to hang out with that kind of people.”

Despite his friend’s kind words, Harry can’t help but roll his eyes. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be unique. Maybe I just want to fit in.”

“I don’t think you need to, but good luck.” Louis replies turning away.

“Lou?”

He glances back. “Yeah?”

“Are you going tonight?” Harry asks, hopeful.

“I’ll think about it,” Louis says half-smiling.

He starts to walk again and disappears inside the building.

“I’ll wait up,” Harry says to no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and thanks so much for reading! There's a few things I want to say before anyone asks:
> 
> 13 Going On 30 has been my favorite movie since I was 10 years old and I've been meaning to write something inspired by it for a very long time. And because Louis and Harry are such an amazing duo/pairing I decided to put some real work into this and I think I achieved... something with what you've just read.
> 
> The britpop storyline came about because during the Four era Harry wore a Modern Life is Rubbish sweatshirt and Louis wore a Live Forever shirt and they ruined my life, basically. Also around the time I started this story last year I was a bit obsessed with Blur, so everything just clicked. And in case you didn't catch this was a biased piece of work, the title is a lyric from Blur's My Terracotta Heart, my favorite song off their last album -listen to it, it's Good.
> 
> Anyway, the reason I've postponed publishing the story for this long is that I thought I should do it once I had some more chapters under my belt, but this just ended up collecting dust in my files. Only now I figured it was a better idea to just expose myself to criticism and let that be the fire under my ass to actually write the whole damn thing... so here it is!
> 
> Alright, thank you for making it this far on the notes if you did. I apologize for writing this much. Please tell me what you thought of it, I want to know everything! The good and the bad. Write back to me on here or at monodeuramain on Tumblr. The next chapter's coming very soon and it'll be a lot better, I promise.
> 
> Have a nice weekend!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's much awaited birthday party.

“How was school, love?” Anne questions from the kitchen when Harry walks in the house.

The boy goes to the living room and simultaneously drops his bag, his coat and himself on the large couch. “Uninteresting, as usual”

His mum shakes her head while cleaning the counter. “Glad that your education’s proving to be a great investment.”

Harry smiles, but his expression quickly sours. “Shouldn’t you be out? Like… somewhere else now?” He asks.

“I was just getting ready to go,” his mum replies, struggling to wipe a grease stain off the water tap.

“Well, get ready faster,” Harry scoffs, getting up from the spot he was sprawled on for a second.

Anne smiles sardonically, popping her head out of the kitchen threshold for a second. “Haha, don’t push it”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Sorry”

She gets back to cleaning. “Aren’t _you_ supposed to be getting your stuff ready in the living room, too?”

Harry moves back to the lobby and leans on a wall with his arms crossed. “I was kind of expecting you to leave before I did that.”

Anne chuckles. “Such a sweet boy. Listen, why don’t you go get your record player and the albums you want to play? You always forget to do it until last minute, when you get lazy and whine about it to me. It’ll keep you busy while I’m done cleaning here.”

She does have a point. “Fine,” Harry huffs and walks upstairs unwillingly.

“You’re a doll!” Anne yells out from the kitchen.

Harry loves listening to his records, he really does. It’s what he has to do to get the record player he abhors. See, the Styles’ household doesn’t have an attic where they keep the crap that has no other good spot, but there is a small room on the second floor that’s piled up with all the junk that the family has gathered along the years, and that can’t be thrown out or recycled. It’s worse than an attic to Harry, if he’s being honest, and it’s beyond the boy’s head why his mum insists on keeping the record player in between dozens of card boxes of toys they’ve stopped playing with and beach furniture they’ll never use.

He quickly changes into more comfortable clothes –a grey sweatshirt, jeans and his faithful Converse- before launching into the unknown that is that bloody room. He covers his nose and mouth with one hand and reluctantly turns the knob to reveal the mess. It doesn’t do much though, his throat and nostrils are itching more than he expected. God, he hates going in here. He barely manages to walk between stray Lego blocks and photo albums his grandparents left in the house when they gifted it to his mum. The record player is on an old shelf of Gemma’s that she broke when she was little, despite claiming to this day that somehow it fell off the spot on her wall where it had been drilled on years before. Again, why is a fully functional music player in the same place with stuff that they should’ve given away _years_ ago? Harry can’t make sense of it. He uncovers his face though, and picks it up with both arms because he’s the wimpiest kid in the world. Thankfully, walking out was easier than getting in the tiny closet, and once he’s back in the hallway he shuts the door with his foot and makes a beeline to go downstairs.

But he should probably get the albums now instead of doing two trips, right? Yeah, he should. His mum is going to scold him if he doesn’t do it, anyway. Has he said this has happened before? Way too many times actually, and he’s not in the mood for fighting with her again today. Harry realizes he’s been pondering this for a few seconds too many and his arms are starting to give because, again, he’s the wimpiest boy in the planet. So he runs inside his bedroom and lays it down on his bed to go over his collection. And, if he’s being totally honest, there’s not much to go over, given that he’s only had the thing for little over a year.

Two Christmases ago, his dad was kind enough to inherit him this record player. He had bought it for himself when he was in uni. He came over for dinner that Christmas Eve, despite the fact that he divorced his mum a few years back and had formed a whole new family, and brought the device with him as a gift for his son. Before giving it away, Des made sure to tell him that it would probably become useless soon with the whole cd craze going on. But despite the novelty, and the fact that his dad was pretty obviously trying to bond with him through his biggest passion, Harry had grown up with records and fell in love with music through them. That’s why on that they he swore to play vinyl for the rest of his life. It’s true that only a year has passed since that promise, but he still stands by it.

Sometime last year Des also passed along some records to him, insisting on creating a father-son relationship, Harry thinks. The selection consisted mostly of the new wave stuff and oldies his dad played around the house when the boy was little. Harry listened to them many times after they became his own but matter how much he tried, he could not get into that type of music. Later, Des found a brand spanking reissue of _Labyrinth_ ’s soundtrack in a record store in London, and decided to give it to Harry as well. He knew it used to be his son’s favourite movie as a toddler, mostly influenced by his own Jim Henson obsession, but it was his favourite movie regardless. And not too long after Harry sprawled on his bed and played the album from start to finish, he revisited the film, and became kind of obsessed with it as well. His dad’s plan had actually worked.

Harry thinks he relates to Sarah a little bit too much, but he’s quite aware that if the plot of the movie were to be adapted in his life, he would become the little brother she gets rid of with the help of an evil goblin king. Regardless, for days of ever-blooming teenage angst –at least what he imagines to be that, since he’s barely a teenager- he feels like the film gets him more than he gets himself. And on other occasions, it’s just fun to see David Bowie wearing leather tights and big hair like he’s Guns and Roses’ newest band member.

It might be a weird album to have in the background of the party, but he’ll probably save it for the end. Harry knows that Louis will definitely appreciate playing it once Nick’s crew is gone, because his mum keeps trying to convince him that he’s the spitting image of a young Bowie -and to be fair, she’s not all that wrong.

Speak of the devil, his best friend will probably let him have it, but _The Great Escape_ will definitely be played at his birthday bash. Hey, it’s not his fault that Blur is the coolest band out of England right now, okay? Of course that Louis doesn’t agree, having been team Oasis since the group put out _Morning Glory_ , but that was, what, three years ago? And where have they been since then, Harry ponders. In some overpriced studio recording terrible singles, that’s where.

Sure, NME gave Damon a hard time because of their _Country House_ single, and Harry can agree that track is a bad joke, but cut him some slack. Graham and him wrote that entire album while they were touring _Parklife_ like crazy. Plus, _He Thought of_ freaking _Cars_ is on _The Great Escape_ , and no one praised the band for putting out such a fantastic criticism of isolation in modern life. Music publications can really be a pain in the ass to artists. They work really hard to showcase their heart and soul in complex, yet explicit pieces, and people like Louis just praise some journalists’ ignorant views on the industry. Shame.

Harry is stuck between complaining about Louis’ lack of taste, and reminiscing all the afternoons he’s spent with that record making him company, when he thinks he hears a door being closed downstairs. He gathers a few other albums from his collection, namely My Bloody Valentine, Jeff Buckley, Neutral Milk Hotel and some Guided by Voices EP he got in a hurry last month because he overheard Asami talking about it before, when he resolves he’s good to go. Mostly since he believes his mum finally left the house.

The boy runs down to the lobby, the albums he picked secured under his arm, and he looks around the room. His mum isn’t in the kitchen, and as Harry gets a closer look to the living room behind it, he realizes she’s not there either, except… oh.

 _Oh no_.

The boy walks ever so slowly to fully enter the living room, dropping the stuff he brought down on the thin table by the stairs, and that’s when he catches it in its full glory: His mother left him an actual unicorn shaped piñata hanging right from the middle of the living room ceiling, for everyone to see.

A unicorn. Shaped. Piñata.

Harry’s frown can be seen from outer space as he studies this fictional animal made out of paper maché. _Really_ , mum? If you wanted to embarrass your son one last time before he dies of a heart attack, most likely caused by the very embarrassment he’s suffering, you could’ve at least chosen a more masculine creature out of the bunch of piñatas that exist in birthday stores across Manchester to do so. A lion would’ve been okay, or a shark, or something like that. Actually, no piñata would have been just fine, but he knows that’s too much to ask.

Why a piñata anyway? They’re not Mexican. Is this offensive to their culture? Will Nick’s friends be upset when they see there’s a piñata here? How will he explain this to them? Oh my god, what if they just laugh? They’re going to make fun of him for the rest of his life, aren’t they? They’re gonna walk in, see the piñata, and burst out laughing and walk out and never speak to Harry or anyone who’s at all related to him ever again. And they’ll see him in the school yard and whisper things to their other cool friends while they snicker. He’s gonna be ‘piñata boy’ until he graduates and goes to a university across the pond or something. Maybe in Alaska nobody will know that he was piñata boy when he was in school.

“Honey, I’m home!” Louis exclaims as he unlocks the front door open.

Naturally, Harry panics. “Oh god, Louis, wait-”

“I hope you don’t mind that I used the spare key behind the house numbers to get in,” his friend admits showing said key to him and putting it back on its place before walking in. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“No, Louis, hold on-” The boy interjects again, attempting to hide the festive nightmare with his minuscule body.

Louis shuts the door and keeps one hand behind his back. If Harry wasn’t so busy coming up with a believable lie to cover this up, he’d be wondering what that’s about. “What?” His friend walks closer to him, his brow furrowing despite his smile. “What you got there?”

“Lou, please-!”

He stands right in front of Harry and looks behind him and back to his cherub face a couple times, smirking. “Is that a-”

Harry nods, defeated. “Yes, yes it is”

Louis purses his lips to avoid his eventual laughter. “Well, I had no idea about your Latin-American heritage, mate, I’m glad you’re embracing it!”

“Shut up,” he automatically replies, shoving his friend away.

He laughs in return. “Wait,” He says, putting his serious face this time. “I thought seals were your go-to, I’m very confused right now. I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”

Harry’s expression sours as he shoves Louis again. “Cut it out, mum left it here for me.”

“How do you know?” Louis asks arching an eyebrow.

“I went to get the record player and some albums for later and she probably used that time to set it up and leave the house so I wouldn’t make her get rid of it,” Harry explains, almost pouting.

Louis cracks up. “Wow, Anne’s pure evil, that’s why I love her.”

“Come on,” the boy shoves him once again, except more friendly than pissed off this time. “Will you help me take this down?” He requests, signalling the piñata.

“What? Why?” Louis genuinely questions, frowning.

“What the hell do you mean “why”?” Harry says, looking at the edge of a temper tantrum. “I’m not going through this today.”

His friend shrugs nonchalantly. “I think it’s cute, it suits your…” He stops himself and ponders looking at nowhere in particular, index finger on his chin. “Personality.”

“How come?” The boy scoffs.

“I don’t know…” Louis shrugs again.

Harry widens his eyes and smirks. “You’re making quite a case there.”

Louis rolls his eyes but looks a lot more determined to say something now. “Well, see, unicorns don’t grow in trees, right? They’re pretty much unique.”

“They’re not real, Louis,” The boy argues after a beat.

“True!” he exclaims before Harry’s finished talking. “That’s why they fit you. I don’t see how a 13 year old boy that reads musicology magazines for fun and bakes some mean chocolate croissants, all while having a kind heart and avoiding to be a ball of pretentiousness is real, to be honest. Yet here you are,” Louis states in a single breath.

Harry thinks he’s speechless, but also he feels weird. Oh god, is he blushing? _Again_? For something his best friend said? He needs to fix this right away. Quick, say something tough and manly.

“That’s… really sweet,” Nailed it.

Louis shrugs and attempts to smile while looking down at his crappy old Adidas shoes. “Yeah, well…” is all his friend manages to say. Harry thinks he sees a faint blush creeping up his tan too, but he can’t figure out why. He’s the one who said something nice, right? What does he have to be ashamed about?

It’s been a couple very long seconds since Louis’ qualified compliment and none of the boys have said anything. Harry is trying very hard to change the subject. The last thing he wants is Louis walking out on him for the second time today. Wait. He thought he wouldn’t even come to the party! He was so caught up in getting rid of that fake animal that he didn’t even realize his friend actually showed up.

“I’m glad you made it,” he says finally.

His friend shrugs again for good measure, still not quite looking up at him. “Well, I kinda live next door so it would be too petulant to not come over on your birthday. Even for me”

“You’ve got a point,” Harry agrees, smiling.

Louis seems nervous. He finally lifts his head up but looks around the room instead of over to Harry. “So, um, where’s the record player?”

Harry sighs melodramatically, closing his eyes. He’s so stupid. “I left it upstairs. You know I can only carry one thing or two at a time because of my toddler-like anatomy,” the boy adds self-deprecatingly.

Louis rolls his eyes again at that. “Shut up, your bones are not fully grown yet, that’s all.”

“I’ll go get it now,” Harry says, already making his way back to the stairs. “Make yourself at home and all that.”

“Thanks, I know how to invade private property,” Louis smiles quickly turning around to face the boy.

“I’ll be right down!” He yells already running upstairs.

“Take your time, Haz,” Louis chuckles to himself.

Once Harry is out of sight, Louis breathes in and out a couple times. He wasn’t even aware of how still he was a second ago, but now that his friend is gone he can calm down for a bit. Why is he so tense anyway? Why is he so tense every time he’s around Harry is a better question, though, but it’s taken far too much self-convincing and daily meditation sessions with his step-dad to avoid that query, so he’ll keep doing that for now and everything will be fine.

The boy goes back to the house’s lobby and checks his hair in the mirror for the 12th time in the last half hour. He second guesses himself too much, probably, but it’s better than having no self-awareness, right? Exactly. His Bob Dylan shirt is kind of tight around all the wrong areas, mainly his tummy, that’s currently filled to the brim with tea and the occasional butterfly-like bug, but he pulls it off. At least he hopes so. These jeans are kind of uncomfortable, but his bum is sticking out, which is a good thing according to his mum. He has no idea why. His crappy Adidas shoes and the lined denim jacket he has on are really warm and really tie the look together. God, he needs to stop watching the fashion channel with his sister, it’s ruining him.

Just when he’s about to ruffle his quiff a bit so it doesn’t look too artificial, Louis hears steps on the second floor, so he turns back to the stairs as quick as lightning and is all smiles with his hands behind his back again.

Harry looks really funny leaning on for dear life to the handrail while he holds the record player with his skinny little arms. “You okay there?”

“I’m great!” The boy quivers under his breath, trying as hard as he can to a) not drop the device b) not fall down the stairs c) both.

“Need help?” Louis nearly snickers. He can’t help it.

“I’ll be right down just-” Harry utters as he goes down the very last step and gets on familiar floor again. Thank Jesus. “And we’re good,” he says, breathing out as he places the turntable next to the records.

“Congrats, you made it here without dying once again,” his friend smiles.

Harry gives him a look. “Thanks,” he says turning his back to look through the albums he selected.

“So…” Louis says walking over to him. “What are we listening today?” He is impossibly close to Harry, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Um… some new stuff. Neutral Milk Hotel and _Grace_ …” The boy drifts off trying to mentally decide what he’ll play first.

“I think I have something a bit more recent that you might like,” Louis mumbles.

Harry snaps out of his trance and finally looks over to his friend, and of course, flushes at how close they are to one another. He clears his throat and moves a few many inches away from him. That was weird. “Really? You brought a record?”

Louis might be flushing too, again. He half smiles. “Yeah, it’s some local band’s latest release. I thought of you when I grabbed it,” he admits as he finally reveals a shopping bag that’s been hidden behind his back since he arrived. He reaches inside, slowly pulls out a record and leaves the bag on the floor. The square is tinted with an orange-y yellow, and a few brown and white strokes dancing across its cover. It looks brand new, but the plastic that’s guarding it from the outside world seems old, so the record appears to be much more ordinary than it should.

Hold on. Harry recognizes this. He’s definitely seen this artwork before.

He was reading the new NME last week. They did a special spread dedicated to the new Blur album. He devoured the new information in less than an hour, even the more unfortunate bits, like Graham’s alcoholism and unpredictable behaviour around the media, the fans and of course, and worst of all, his bandmates. Harry got upset, but he pretended it was just gossip to feed the pigs –journalists, of course- some mud. All that mattered was that in a few weeks, a new record would come out and it would be their best one to date, according to Damon. It would be a lot more experimental and weird, and Harry would get it as soon as it was released and would listen to it on repeat for days on end.

Except that none of that is happening. Because Louis is holding it in his hand. Louis got him the new self-titled Blur album before it’s even out.

“What… Is that… Lou-”

“Y’know how Mark’s brother works in Virgin Radio? Well, he was able to grab a copy of this and told me to give it to you because he knows how much you like them,” Louis shrugs like it’s no big deal. What the hell is wrong with him. “If it were my decision, I’d keep it from you so you stop listening to this rubbish, but he made me pass it along, so I obliged. Can’t really argue with him. He’s like five foot taller than me.”

Harry is so starstruck staring at the record that Louis’ sarcasm goes over his head. “How… did you get-”

Louis rolls his eyes and gives him the album on his hand. Harry might die right now. “Stop gaping, it’s just a record. Let’s play it now, shall we?” He walks over to work out the record player when he feels shaky arms across his chest.

Harry’s left the album on top of the rest and is hugging Louis with all the strength he can bring out right now. “Thank you so much, Lou,” he manages to speak, muffled by the other boy’s jacket collar.

Louis just smiles and tentatively reaches at Harry’s hand. He can only pat it so this whole thing doesn’t take an awkward turn again. He definitely doesn’t want his stupid thoughts to ruin this moment. “Anytime,” he replies simply.

The boy sets him free and Louis turns back to look at him. “I don’t really want to listen to it now, though. I think it requires a different-”

“Mood?” Louis completes the sentence. Harry nods, smiling like he’s just seen Father Christmas or something. “Yeah, I got you.”

“Okay, I just needed to say it,” he sighs, relieved. “Just so you don’t think that I don’t appreciate you doing that for me-”

“Well, technically I didn’t do it, it was my uncle in law,” Louis interrupts, looking perfectly uncomfortable.

Harry rolls his eyes at him. “Louis, there’s nothing wrong with admitting you gave me something nice, I’m really grateful.”

“Yeah, I know,” his friend shrugs, looking away, embarrassed. “I’m just saying that if it were me, never in a million years I would keep polluting your ears with Blur records.”

“If it were you?” Harry asks in total disbelief. “Lou, I’ve never even met your step-dad’s brother. How on earth would he know me, let alone who my favourite band are?”

Louis stays silent for a few seconds, and Harry can see right through this façade he’s trying to pull off. He can almost hear him thinking to himself about the next best lie he could tell him at this point. “Well… I may have mentioned it once or twice at some family gathering,” he finally admits, looking down at his shoes.

“See? You did this with good intentions,” Harry smiles wider this time. Louis hates him.

“I’m glad you like it but it’s not like I’m mother flippin’ Theresa now,” Louis sighs and ruffles his quiff carefully. He knows he should be proud of himself for scoring such a great gift for Harry, but for some reason he can’t stop acting like an epic dork.

Besides, he’s a little worried that Harry’s face hurts from smiling right now, though he must admit that his dimples are a pleasant view. “I’m glad you gave it to me,” the boy thanks him earnestly.

They look at each other for another beat until it dawns upon Louis that he’s forgetting something. “By the way, that’s not all!”

Harry’s expression falters a tiny bit. “It’s not?”

“Nope,” Louis says as he leans down, grabs the bag from the floor and stands up straight. He reaches inside again but this time he keeps the hand in there, looking solemn enough to give a speech. “I know that this needs to be the best birthday in the history of birthdays, so I’m not settling on you getting to make just one stupid wish when you blow the candle later,” he gets the remaining present out of the bag. “So I got you this!” he finishes, pride drenched on his tone.

And Louis is now holding a… cactus inside a trash bag full of dirt?

Harry is perplexed. “A… plant?” He tries to smile but he’s pretty sure he looks more manic than excited right now.

Louis is smiling brighter than ever before. “It’s a cactus! I remember you mentioned once you wanted to have a collection of these so I figured this might be a good start. It even has a little flower sprout,” he says as a side note, like he’s talking about his son who just got in college and not only is a brilliant lit student, but he’s also soon to be David Beckham’s successor or something like that.

“I… know what it is but…” Harry tries, still more confused than upset. “I don’t see what this has to do with wishes, Lou.”

“Well, see, Fiz told me that she read on some magazine that if you write on a piece of paper the one thing you wish for the most, and place it inside the flowerpot, like, before you put a plant in it, obviously, as the plant grows inside, it’ll come true!” Louis tells him like it’s the most exciting thing he’s heard in his life.

And it kind of is, if Harry’s being honest. “Oh… that’s kinda cool,” he replies.

Louis won’t stop smiling. “I know!”

“I have a question though,” Harry says as he considers it. “Cactuses don’t really grow that much, do they?”

Louis stops smiling. “Hmm… I guess you’re right…” he scratches his head. He didn’t think this through. “But there is a tiny flower on it, maybe that will?” He sounds filled with self-doubt now.

“Let’s hope so,” Harry replies as he stares down at the tiny succulent.

“So… you wanna make the wish?” Louis asks him after a second of pondering.

The boy frowns, feeling a bit pressured. “What- now?”

“Sure, why not!” his friend interjects, smiling. “I won’t peek, I promise”

“You better not,” Harry says jokingly. He looks around the room for his mum’s favourite notepad and can’t seem to find it anywhere. So he walks to the kitchen and sees it on the counter she was so eagerly cleaning a while ago. He grabs it and goes back to the lobby.

“Alright…” Harry says turning his back to Louis. He taps the pen on his chin as he starts wondering what he could write on it that’s not too embarrassing. Once again, the only thing popping in his mind is growing up and being taken seriously. His subconscious is truly a broken record. He’s supposed to wish something possible too, and unless Tom Hanks’ _Big_ movie isn’t fiction, he’s not so sure that this can come true. He’s battling internally about it when he feels Louis’ gaze on the notepad. “Don’t look!”

The other boy chuckles as he steps back from Harry. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” he promises.

Harry rolls his eyes at him. He’s still tapping the damn pen on his face. Oh, what the hell? What’s the worst that could happen if he admitted his wish to a freaking piece of paper that no one’s ever going to see because it’s buried beneath a plant? He scribbles ‘I WANT TO GROW UP’, but quickly decides that’s a little too vague. He flips over to a blank sheet and writes a bit more clearly ‘I WANT TO BE A COOL 30 YR OLD’. He knows it sounds foolish but hey, this whole ordeal isn’t the smartest thing he’s done either. He rips the page out of the pad and folds it inside his hand. “Done,” he declares, turning around.

“Cool! So what did you wish for?”

The boy looks at him like he’s just asked him what colour is Napoleon’s white horse. “I’m not telling you! It’s not coming true if I do,” Harry responds deeply offended.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Okay, now find something to put the plant in and let’s get this over with.”

Harry hums as he looks around the room again for an empty something. And then he remembers that Gem left a small pickle jar inside a cupboard to recycle it later. He runs to the kitchen, opens said cupboard and grabs the jar as fast as he can. Using it as a flower pot still counts as recycling, right? Once he’s back in the lobby, he puts the folded piece of paper inside the recipient, grabs the plant from Louis’ hand, and sets it on top of the paper. Harry’s definitely a gardening expert.

“Uh… mate… shouldn’t you have removed the trash bag before doing that?” Louis asks in an awkward tone.

Harry’s definitely an idiot. “I didn’t think this through,” Louis agrees, nodding profusely. But the boy leaves the jar on the nearby table nonetheless. “It’s okay, I can do it later. I’m putting a record on,” he affirms nonchalantly, as he moves over to his dearest albums and immediately grabs _The Great Escape_.

“Really, Harold? This will sour anyone’s mood,” Louis argues, upset.

“Shut up, Louis, it’s great,” Harry replies, having none of it because it’s his birthday and he’ll play his favourite album if he wants to.

“As great as a song about a cheeky board game can be,” Louis says trying not to laugh now.

If he’s being honest, Louis actually loves Blur just as much as he loves Oasis and Suede and Pulp –the latter being his favourite out of their genre. He just enjoys giving Harry a hard time for liking that band a bit too much, especially in the middle of the media circus Oasis and them have been in for years now. He likes hearing Harry get so riled up on defending stuff that he likes. The boy’s passion for music and how concise and clever he is with words are genuinely admirable to him. Their age difference isn’t enormous, but Louis genuinely wishes he could’ve been that educated and well-spoken when he was younger. Hell, he wishes he was like that now. Hanging out with Harry every day since he moved to Manchester hasn’t rubbed any of his knowledge on him yet, which Louis considers to be quite unfair.

Louis continues to reflect on that as Harry puts the record on and drops the needle on the opener, _Stereotypes_ , on his first try. Another thing Louis’ never been very good with is vinyl; he always ends up scratching or causing damage of some sort to them, so he kinda envies that from his friend. He’s so focused on what Harry’s doing, pretty much staring at the boy reading the album’s liner notes, that he startles pretty bad when he quickly turns to the door and starts fumbling around the house. Louis isn’t sure what’s going on because all he sees is his friend gathering bowls full of snacks and poorly placing them on the living room table.

“Just a second!” Harry manages to yell, agitated. He comes back from the kitchen with three chip dips that he poured on a random dish and puts them next to the other plates. “Oh god- Lou, could you change the music while I get the door?”

Oh, so the unfortunate guests are here, Louis finally realizes. He needs to stop zoning out like that. Wait, what did Harry say? “Change the music?”

“Yeah,” the boy utters as he wipes his hands behind his jeans, looking quite frustrated at his friend for keeping him from tending the door. But he walks towards it regardless.

“Why?” Louis asks genuinely dumbfounded. He knows this is Harry’s favourite record and… it just started playing?

Harry’s losing his temper now. He turns back to Louis and breathes out one annoyed breath as the bell keeps ringing. “Because I- I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

“Are you serious?” Louis can’t believe his ears.

Harry is about to put his best friend’s head through a wall. “Will you just put something else from the pile I left there? The doorbell is driving me mad and they’ll probably be mad at _me_ if I keep them waiting so long,” he walks away from him again and towards the door.

“Well if it’s for them then I’ll do it gladly!” Louis replies sarcastically, and turns to the record player.

The boy finally opens the door to find all four of Nick’s crew standing on his threshold. And newsflash: they look cooler than ever, wearing what seem to be legitimate cashmere coats, and not the second-hand plush stuff they sell down at the flea market. Has Harry mentioned he’s jealous of them already?

“Hey!” He says as chipper as he can manage.

“Hello, Styles,” Nick greets him, a self-righteous smile tattooed on his face. He and his friends walk in immediately and start looking around the lobby. “Lovely house you have.”

“We agree,” Rita, Ed and Asami say almost in unison. Harry wonders if they rehearse that or they just hang out with each other so often that they’re naturally in sync.

Instead of asking that out loud, he half-smiles at their compliment and shuts the door. “Thanks…”

“Where is the closet so we can hang our coats?” Nick asks as he starts removing his own.

“I’ll go hang them!” He eagerly says, reaching to grab only Nick’s.

And he ends up getting all four coats plopped at once on his tiny arm. “Lovely, thank you, Styles.” Nick smiles again. Harry offers him an uncomfortable smirk beneath the soft fabric and walks to the closet behind the stairs. Why does he want to befriend these people again?

Nick continues to look around until he realizes Louis is at the other end of the room. “Oh, hello Lewis! I didn’t see you there,” he says smugger than ever. Louis looks over at the group and rolls his eyes back to the records he was looking through before. “Did the cat get your tongue, Tommo?” Nick questions quirking an eyebrow.

Louis cringes at the nickname, so he decides to reply now. “No, Grim reaper, I’m fine, thanks.”

“What a clever play on words, Lewis!” Nick scoffs, mispronouncing his name again on purpose. “Did you make that up today?”

“Come on, Nick, that’s not nice,” Asami warns him shoving him from behind. Louis quirks an eyebrow at that.

Nick glares at her. “You’re very sensitive today, A”

“Maybe I am, or maybe you’re just being a bigger prick than usual,” she smiles her dainty face up at the man-child.

Nick’s eyebrows shoot up as the rest of the group woos behind them to stir the pot. “Whoa! You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I’m back!” Harry announces, walking quickly to be in front of them, the rising tension between Nick’s crew dissipating instantly.

“Harry! We were missing you already,” Nick smiles down at him and hugs his frenemies to paint a perfect picture. They all smile meekly. “I must say, you have arranged a lovely selection of snacks.”

Harry smiles but furrows his brows. “I’m glad you’re… enjoying them?”

Nick looks behind the boy now and just then he takes in the gigantic unicorn hanging in the middle of the living room. “And the _piñata_ is… well…” He manages to get say as he holds back his laughter, even though Ed and Rita are chuckling already. “… A nice… multicultural item?”

“It wasn’t my idea, my mum left it here,” the boy hurries to clarify.

“Of course she did,” Nick says, nodding as he smiles condescendingly at him. “Don’t get me wrong, though, we love it! It’s quite… youthful,” he adds to seem friendly.

“Right,” Harry half-smiles again. He never seems to be fully outgoing when they’re around, does he?

“But to be honest, this music selection is lacking in comparison to the rest of the stuff,” Nick finally lets go of his friends and starts walking over to the record player, where Louis has been listening to the awkward exchange in silence the whole time. “I mean, Blur? Seriously?” He asks Harry, grabbing the sleeve and showing it to him like he’s committed a deadly sin.

Harry tugs at his collar from the other end of the room and turns back to him, looking uncomfortably for an explanation of his poor taste. “Oh… Well… I don’t know, I just had that record in the house so…”

Louis can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Nick nods gently and puts the sleeve back where it was on. “You were in a rush, I get it, now let me help you with that,” He’s about to go grab at the pile of records next to the player, but Louis is in the way. “Move over, will you?” He mutters down at the boy, so Louis scowls at him and walks back. “Let’s see what we have here…” Nick says as he looks through the records, until he finds Harry’s copy of _Loveless_ and it makes his features light up. “Nice, I love MBV! Why didn’t you put this on before?”

Harry shrugs, still very awkward. “I just got it last week and I haven’t really listened to it-”

Nick seems positively outraged at this. “Wha- Styles, this record is amazing! It invented a whole new genre!” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it as he removes the needle from the current record, right when _Country House_ ’s bass riff is kicking in. “We shall not waste any more time listening to this made-for-radio trash, let’s put some real music on!” He exclaims eagerly, starting to change the album.

“Can we eat already?” Rita complains behind him.

Harry looks back at the rest of the group. “Sure, help yourselves.” Rita walks straight to the table and grabs at the bowl of Doritos as she sits down on the carpet.

Ed gives Harry a one arm hug and leans closer to him to murmur, even though it comes out quite louder than he expected. “Styles, got any weed?”

“What?” He asks shocked.

“Weed. Do I need to spell it for you?” Ed insists unfazed.

“No, of course not,” Harry says shuddering a bit and ridding of Ed’s arm around him. “There’s none of that here.”

“Great, I told you I should bring some,” the older boy mutters to Asami. “Are there at least any, you know, _beverages_ in the house?” he asks Harry, seeming the slightest bit hopeful again.

Harry is confused. “Um… there’s water and some fizzy drinks…”

Ed’s patience is quickly running out. “I meant like… alcoholic…”

“Oh… then… no,” the boy admits looking down at his shoes like he should be ashamed of not having booze around.

“Brilliant, this party is just brilliant!” Ed complains at no one in particular and joins Rita where she’s snacking on the floor.

Asami walks one step so she’s standing right by Harry’s side, but she doesn’t look at him, focused on Nick finally working out the needle to start playing the record. “So… how has your birthday been so far?”

Harry shudders again, but this time out of excitement. She’s actually talking to him out of mere interest. He might die. “Okay, I guess,” he shrugs, also looking at Nick, who is now rocking out to _Only Shallow_ , and consequently, at Louis, who is leaning on a wall with his arms crossed. Boy, this party sucks.

“That bad?” she chuckles.

“Yeah, well…” he shrugs looking at her. “At least you guys are here now so it’ll probably improve,” he lies, because he pretty much wants to be alone in his room, or have everyone but Asami leave.

“That’s sweet,” Asami smiles at him and looks back at Nick. “So you like MBV?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs again. “I’ve only read about them on NME before,” he confesses.

“They’re cool, but they’re pretty weird. My brother’s adored them forever, even before they made it big, so I liked pissing him off saying they sound like vacuuming. Only after months of him playing this record non-stop I managed to get into them,” Asami admits almost swooning at the slicing guitars in the background.

Harry feels so uncool talking to her, but he still laughs condescendingly. “That’s a nice story,” he replies, because saying something sarcastic is better than shutting the hell up, apparently.

“Right?” she smiles back at him. Thank Jesus.

And then Louis’ voice appears out of nowhere. “Harold, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Harry startles. “I’m in the middle of something right now.”

Louis stands in front of them and looks at Asami. “Yes hello. I really need to talk to you,” he says looking back at his friend. Harry’s eyes cry out murder, but Louis doesn’t exactly care right now. “It’ll be just a second,” he reassures him.

“I’ll be back,” he says to Asami while still glancing deadly at Louis.

“Sure, and I’ll still be here,” she smiles awkwardly, somewhat put-off by their stare war.

Louis grabs Harry’s arm and moves quickly over to the coat closet where the rest of the guys probably won’t hear them.

Just as they reach that spot, Harry makes his friend let go of him. “Louis, what the hell are you doing?” Harry exclaims under his breath. “I was finally having a proper conversation with the girl you know I fancy and you go ahead and interrupt me-”

“What am I doing? What are _you_ doing?” Louis interjects just as softly but nonetheless annoyed.

Harry’s brows knit together at that. “I’m not following.”

“You’re just gonna let them step over you? Let them believe this house is theirs and they can just bum around and change the music if they please? They didn’t even bring you a gift!” His friend says outraged.

Harry rolls his eyes. “That’s just part of being a good host! And let’s not talk about the music thing because you didn’t want to listen to Blur either”

Louis rolls his eyes too. “You know I’m just messing around when I tell you I don’t care for them. I’m not as awful as to actually go ahead and play what _I_ want on _your_ damn birthday party,” he points a finger at Harry for emphasis.

“Yeah right,” Harry crosses his arms and looks away from him.

“Harry, I’m serious,” Louis says, sounding more frustrated than angry now.

The boy’s arms uncross after a few seconds and he can finally look at Louis again. “What is this about? Are you just jealous that I want to be friends with them too?”

“No, it’s just…” Louis struggles to articulate how he’s feeling right now. He scratches his head trying to not offend him while speaking his mind. “You’re being a totally different version of yourself right now.” Pause. Awkward, terrible pause. They’re no longer looking at each other. “A version I don’t like, for that matter,” he finally admits.

“You’re overreacting,” Harry replies after a second because he’s never been as dumbstruck as he is now.

Louis swallows and tries to start over. “No, I’m not. I know you better than anyone else, Harry, and because I care about you I would never be against you being friends with other people, just…” he shakes his head. “Not them”

“I already told you I like them!” Harry is louder now and looks at Louis in the eye, feeling let down and stupid at the same time. A winning combo. “Why can’t you trust me on this? Is it because I’m just a little boy that’s playing to be an adult?”

“Good lord, this whole adult thing again-” Louis says looking at the ceiling like he’s expecting some omnipotent power to make an appearance and solve this issue for him.

“Yes, the adult thing again,” the boy says, making Louis really look at him as he speaks. “We’re just friends, Louis. You’re not my parent, you’re not even my sibling, so you can’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. And if you’re too bothered by that then I’d really like you to leave. This day has been bad enough already to have you grumbling about everything” As he finishes his request, Harry realizes his hands have become fists next to him.

A beat, two, three pass.

“Fine,” Louis mutters.

“What?”

“I’ll shut up,” his friend says, a bit louder this time.

“Really?” Harry lights up just a tiny bit.

“Yeah,” Louis smiles weakly.

So does Harry. “Thank you.”

They slowly walk back to the living room, a few feet from each other, because neither of them are in the mood for another fight. Nick’s crew are pretty much on the same places they were when Louis and Harry left the room. Like they never even left. Funny that.

Ed seems a bit happier now though, probably because he’s eaten almost all of the bowl of gummy worms. He stands up on his feet in one go and smiles at Harry from across the room. “So who is up for fun a game of _pinoyta_?”

Everyone but Louis laugh at Ed’s proposal. Harry is mostly chuckling at Ed’s lack of phonetics, but he’s not gonna be the one to correct him. Grammar is for losers and he’s not one, not today.

“That’s not how it’s pronounced, you moron,” Asami rolls her eyes as she moves over to her friends. Well, Asami is the coolest person Harry knows so maybe grammar isn’t for losers after all.

“Since when are you an expert on this?” Nick strikes back at her, smiling his ugly smug smile. Okay, grammar is definitely for losers? Maybe? Harry isn’t sure but he knows he won’t let Nick win this round of comebacks.

“Yeah, is Mexican a percentage of your ethnicity too?” the boy comments.

Nick, Ed and Rita burst out laughing. Asami looks hurt but still attempts to smile despite herself. Louis is frozen by Harry’s side. Harry feels like a dimwit for the millionth time today. Brilliant.

“Good one, Styles,” Nick smiles at the boy as he crunches on a large potato chip.

“Anyway…” Rita changes the subject, sixth sensing how tense the reunion’s atmosphere has suddenly become. “Do you have something we can use to punch the hell out of this thing?” she says, pointing at the unicorn.

Harry clears his throat. “Yeah, I think there’s a baseball bat or something in our garbage closet?”

“What’s a garbage closet?” Ed asks.

“What normal people call an attic,” Harry replies immediately.

Nick’s crew laugh again. “Amazing. Lewis, why don’t you play your usual part and go get it for us?” Nick asks tossing a stray gummy worm at Louis, who is positively fuming next to Harry right now.

Harry pleads just by looking at him. Louis sighs, defeated. “Sure, why not,” he mutters back, glaring at Nick.

The older teen is all smiles as Louis leaves. “You’re a delight!”

“Piss off,” Louis mutters again as he walks upstairs.

Once he’s gone, Nick moves over to Harry and hugs him with one arm. “So, Harry…” he pinches one of the boy’s cheeks. “How’s the short story doing?”

“Oh, it’s done, actually!” Harry smiles, proud of himself. “It was pretty easy, you just had to associate something out of the ordinary that’s happened to you with a book and-”

“Great! Where is it?” Nick interjects, uninterested.

Harry sighs. Where is his mind? “I left it upstairs… but I’ll get it! I’ll be back in a second,” he says ridding of Nick’s arm to run back to his room.

Once he’s there, Harry opens his backpack and grabs a folder that contains the finished story. He’s eagerly walking out when he bumps into Louis (and the bat) in the hallway. His features are an interesting mix of annoyed and indulgent.

“Jesus, when was the last time they cleaned in there?” he complains, wiping out some of the dirt off of his clothes with his hand.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Harry smiles back.

“So, um…” Louis scratches his head. “I need to use the loo now… You can take this back with you, right?” He asks Harry, showing him the bat.

The boy shrugs and grabs it with his free hand. “Sure.”

“Cool,” Louis smiles again but makes no effort of walking to the toilet.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, puzzled.

“I’m great,” his friend says on a tone that declares exactly the opposite, but Harry doesn’t push it.

“Alright,” he replies, and they part ways.

“Come on, Harry, hurry up!” The group calls from the living room as Harry goes downstairs.

“Sorry guys,” he apologizes, finally meeting them again. “Here’s the story, Nick,” he declares as he hands it over to the boy, who smiles as wide as he possibly can in return. “I also got the bat!”

Nick’s expression sours. “Why did you get this? Where did little Lewis run off to?”

Harry frowns. “ _Louis_ had to use the toilet, so since I was coming back down, he gave it to me. But we can wait for him to play this thing, right?”

Nick shrugs. “Nah, he won’t miss much. It’s just ripping open a paper mache animal. Now, do we all know how to play?” A chorus of ‘no’ reply to Nick’s question. “Okay, amateurs. So here’s how it’s done: We blindfold the victim, which in this case is, of course, the birthday boy… And what can we use for that?”

Rita unexpectedly pulls out a large black handkerchief out of her jeans’ pocket. “Does this work?”

“This is good enough,” Nick says, grabbing it and blindfolding Harry immediately. “So, once the subject is blind- You can’t see anything, right?”

“Yeah, but I think my sense of smell might be increasing,” Harry admits, because boy, does this scarf smell terrible. It’s like a mix of booze and… vomit? Or something a less gross?

“Great, so once the subject is blindfolded, we will spin them around 20 times,” Nick proceeds to do it with no warning whatsoever, as the rest of his friends count the twirls. Harry’s pretty dizzy by the time the spawn of Satan is done and thinks his whole body might be the one smelling like vomit soon. “And now, you break the thing apart, and I mean really tear it apart, Harry. The moment you feel it with the bat, you have to smash it like you’re beating up someone you hate. Think about Noel Gallagher or something.”

“Got it,” he’s picturing Nick for sure.

“Wait, shouldn’t he be given directions by someone?” Harry hears Ed asking.

“Oh, that’s right, Ed, I forgot,” Nick replies pensively.

Harry scoffs. “I thought Ed didn’t know how to play this.”

“Well, I do now, smartass,” he replies a bit too loud.

The boy rolls his eyes. “Okay, so who will help me out?”

“I think it should be…” Nick stops himself to give it a thought. “Asami.”

HER? “Me?”

“Sure! Come on,” Nick cheers her on and Harry can hear her moving over to him.

Or so he believes, because the grand mind that is Nick is still behind him and Asami’s just gonna voice over to make it more fun for him, apparently. “This is stupid,” she mouths. Nick just smiles.

Asami sighs. “O-Okay, um, Harry, move to the left.”

“My left or your left?” Harry asks, unable to move his limbs correctly. He can hear Ed giggling.

“ _Your_ left!” the girl exclaims. She’s always hated Nick’s stupid antics but this is just stratospherically ridiculous.

“Okay,” Harry thinks he’s following orders but he’s shuffling back towards the group and might actually hit Nick over the head.

While Nick, Ed and Rita yell at him to get away, Asami laughs because the leader of the pack is pissed off. She still warns Harry though. “Wait, wait, wait you’re gonna hit us-!”

Harry steps back, just a few feet from the rest. “I’m sorry, I really can’t see anything!”

“It’s okay, turn around,” Asami is still chuckling as Harry obeys her and starts moving oddly slow towards the unicorn. “Okay, you’re doing good… Getting close now… Okay, just swing it!”

“Really?”

“Just go!” she yells, eager to get this over with.

Harry obeys her and finally taps at the unicorn. Its horn more specifically. “Yeah!!!” Nick’s crew starts clapping and wooing at the boy as he begins to smash the fictional animal with all the strength he can find in himself. “I finally got you, you bastard! Die, die, die!!!” he finds himself yelling as he keeps trying to break down the piñata.

He’s never done something similar before, and as weird as it is to try and imagine such a thing, it is quite an adrenaline rush. He should take up boxing classes or something like that, because this feels great. Like all the stress he’s ever felt in his life is finally gone. Eventually, the unicorn falls apart, and he can hear pounds and pounds of candy crashing on the floor as they land, but Harry doesn’t care and keeps hitting its remnants, because he’s actually having fun and he hasn’t known what that is in a while.

“Harry?”

It’s Louis’ voice that pulls him out of his trance. “Lou, you’re back!”

“Yeah… um… where is everyone?” Louis asks.

“What do you mean where-” Harry removes the handkerchief from his eyes and looks back at him, and in that motion, he realizes that except for the two of them, the room is empty. “Nick? Asami? Anyone?” The boy calls to no answer.

“I guess they’re gone,” his friend says, also looking around.

“What did you do?” Harry glares at him now.

Louis’ brows furrow. “What did _I_ do?”

“Yeah, you. You said you’d keep your mouth shut, but magically while I’m blindfolded they disappear!” he yells at him as he throws the handkerchief on the floor and holds up the bat to look somewhat threatening.

“Harold, I was just taking a wee upstairs! What are you on about?” Louis replies walking closer to him and feeling even more confused than before.

“My name is Harry. Stop calling me that when I’m around my friends,” he warns him once he’s close enough.

Louis scoffs. “Right, because I’m not your friend”

“Yeah, you can’t be friends with me anymore if my other friends are put off by you,” Harry announces.

Louis rolls his eyes so far back he can probably see his brain cells. “Oh for the love of god, they’re not your friends, Harry! The only reason they were here on the first place is because you agreed to do their homework for them! That’s not something a friend asks of another friend!”

Harry knows Louis is right, but he can’t let him win this. “Never mind, I’m done,” he declares, dropping the bat and grabbing his record player, the albums and the plant the same friend he’s turning his back to right now just gifted him. He shoves him as he walks towards the stairs.

“Oh, so you’re just gonna walk away from this conversation like that? Real mature of you, Mr. Adult,” Louis tries to rile him up again before he really leaves. He hates arguing, and especially hates it with Harry, but Louis knows that if the boy leaves they’ll never make peace.

“Yeah, and I’d really like it if you did the same and walked away from my life,” Harry mutters without looking back at Louis, and he runs up the stairs as fast as he can.

Once he’s back in his bedroom, Harry drops his stuff on the desk and slams the door. He hurries to set up the record player and put Blur’s self-titled record on because he feels _that_ miserable right now. He makes sure to lock the door before dropping the needle, as if that will make the room soundproof, or soundproof enough that no one realizes he’s freaking crying. He’s never been a big fan of moping around, but he’s not sure he can control the ridiculous sobs that are escaping his chest right now.

The people that abandoned his house are not good for him. He knew it before and is very aware of it right now, but he didn’t mind spending time with them as long as that meant he would be cool and accepted, finally. But why did he want to be accepted by people he disliked? Why couldn’t he settle for having probably the best friend in the whole world? The one that went out of his way to find the new record of his favourite band a week in advance for no good goddamn reason other than being fond of him. The one that’s been by his side since he arrived to this horrible town. The one that’s tried his hardest to understand him and that’s never judged him, despite his terrible sense of fashion and his affinity with pretentious words. But he’s favouring total strangers that enjoy listening to vacuum sounds instead.

Harry wipes off his tears and breathes one single breath before dropping the needle on the first track. He knows he’s heard this song before but he can’t think of music references right now, much less the title of the tune. He grabs the jar turned flowerpot, turns off the light and lies down on his bed. He just wants to stop feeling so broken. Maybe if that stupid wish he put inside the thing came true, life wouldn’t suck so much.

Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I know this chapter was a bit longer than the last one but hopefully you had fun reading it regardless.
> 
> Once again I'd like to thank [stylnoops](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stylnoops/) for continuing to support and push me to finish this mess I like to call a story. And on that note, keep your eyes peeled because I might have something new for you next week if everything goes good.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and please, if you have anything (constructive or not) to say about this work let me know in the comments or at [monodeuramain](http://monodeuramain.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.
> 
> Hope you have a good rest of your week :)


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